


Miles To Go Before I Sleep

by mogwai_do



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e12 Comes a Horseman, Episode: s05e13 Revelation 6:8, M/M, Rough Sex, Twisted Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promises can't always be kept, no matter how much you mean them. The obligatory CAH/Rev missing scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Methos threw his book onto the table and kicked off his boots. The damp stone room had never been meant for a bedroom, but the addition of a camp bed had made it so. Tiredly he stripped off his sweater and collapsed onto the bed. This was an absolute nightmare. Of all the unsavoury parts of his past to surface it had to be the Horsemen and it had to be now. It had to be Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod to witness it. He let his arm fall over his eyes, exhausted, but unable to sleep. 'I was the nightmare that kept them awake at night' - the irony of it was not lost on him.

Methos sighed deeply; past and present should never overlap, he'd decided that long ago. At the very least this promised to be messy; at worst... well that didn't really bear thinking about, but he would, he always did. That was why Kronos valued him so greatly as a strategist, he examined _all_ the possibilities.

Presence intruded on his senses - strong, old, familiar and deeply unwelcome - Kronos. Methos didn't bother looking when he heard the door open.

"Expecting me, brother?" That bizarrely cheerful voice could stir up such a torment of conflicting desires and most of the time he didn't even seem to be trying. Methos sighed again as he recognised the futility of hoping that the Highlander would understand this when he himself hadn't yet identified all his own motivations. A weight settled on the edge of the bed next to him and he realised it really had been too much to hope that Kronos would leave if ignored.

A familiar hand came to rest in the centre of his chest, a simple claiming, and Methos could feel the warmth of that idle caress seep through his thin t-shirt, displacing the damp chill of the Horsemen's new home. In a habit three millennia old, Methos slid his own hand over his brother's, stroking lightly. How easy it was to fall into old patterns and how he wished he didn't know what it was his _dear_ brother wanted.

"Thinking again, Methos?" The serious note in Kronos' unusually soft voice made Methos lower his arm, uncovering his eyes to look at his brother. Kronos grinned at the success of his ploy, the beautiful, mad grin that tightened Methos' gut with equal parts anticipation and fear. "Thinking about anything in particular? Your Highlander perhaps?"

Kronos' expression told Methos he already knew the answer to that and simply wanted to see which way Methos would jump. Methos barked a harsh laugh, " _My_ Highlander?" He felt his lips curve into a self-mocking smile. "Bloody Boy Scout is what he is. Fuck knows how he's lived this long 'cause I sure as hell don't!" Methos bit the words off, leashing the anger that had surged forward so unexpectedly, not entirely sure where the words had come from.

Since when had Kronos been a good choice of confidante anyway? Not for the last 3,000 years, that was for certain. And he wasn't really angry at MacLeod; he was angry, absolutely bloody furious if truth be told, at himself, at Kronos, at Cassandra, at Fate and the world in general, but not at Duncan. His anger didn't really matter much anyway, he couldn't afford to go that route - oh it would solve the problem just as well, but he couldn't do that and keep the Highlander and he wanted to, in spite of everything.

As if sensing his brother's distress, Kronos' hand began a light stroking, soothing his brother almost despite himself. That was familiar; Kronos could be as protective as he was possessive. Suddenly the days of the Horsemen were as close as yesterday. Methos could still taste the power that came with what they were, Death on a Horse as close as the hand on his chest. No matter how much he might wish otherwise, he had long ago accepted that particular facet of himself. He still used it now and again when he had to, but he had no intention of ever again unleashing it as he had all those centuries ago. Anyone would have thought it would have become less of a temptation after all this time, but it hadn't. It was something he had hoped he would never have to reveal to the Highlander before he was ready for it. But he'd always known that in the grand scheme of things, wishes and hopes never counted for much at all.

He'd known Duncan hadn't been ready to hear the things he'd said, but circumstances had forced his hand and he'd had to improvise, never his favourite approach. Such an absolute rejection had hurt though, even if it had been exactly what he had hoped for. Sometimes Methos really wished he could be wrong more often. Nothing would ever be the same between them again, even if by some miracle they both managed to survive this. MacLeod was too good at playing judge and jury; Methos could only hope that the friendship they had shared would stop him from going quite as far as executioner.

Methos was almost startled when Kronos shifted on the bed and something must have shown on his face for Kronos began to chuckle. The sound curled tight around him and Methos was suddenly uncomfortably certain that his brother had seen every thought that had passed through his head. They had always been too close for their own good.

"If thinking gives you so little pleasure, brother, perhaps you should stop for a while," Kronos' voice was smug and suggestive, but Methos wasn't feeling particularly open to suggestion at the moment.

"You're right," he agreed easily and tried to rise, "Perhaps a walk will help."

Kronos casually pushed him back down, "You've already prowled every inch of this base, Methos, did you think I hadn't noticed?" 

The voice was too light and Methos winced inwardly, he knew exactly where this was going. He could fight this and Kronos would let him go eventually, but the Horseman would continue to watch him like a hawk until he felt he had re-established his claim on his brother. And Methos needed the freedom that being so completely owned would give him.

"What do you suggest then?" Methos asked, too conscious of the way his hand continued to stroke his brother's without his willing it.

Kronos' mouth quirked up into another grin, "Coy, Methos? Doesn't suit you." 

Then Kronos was leaning forward, leaning in and suddenly Methos couldn't do it. He twisted from beneath Kronos' hand, struggling to sit up, to get up and get away He couldn't do this again, it was... suffocating. As though they had been waiting for just that, deceptively strong hands wrapped around his biceps, pushing him back down and he didn't have the leverage to break free.

Methos knew his eyes were wide with panic and Kronos was grinning, that ridiculously appealing grin, as he leaned over, using his full body weight to press his brother to the bed. Methos felt his stomach flop over inside; he was trapped, pinned, and for some reason the panic was receding anyway.

"Really, brother," Kronos' voice was soft admonishment, "Anyone would think you didn't like it."

Methos tried again, knowing his brother could easily read the desperation in his tone, but unable to hide it, "I told you - I don't... I can't... I've _changed_." Kronos laughed, a surprisingly good-natured chuckle that made Methos wish his brother were anything other than what he was.

"And I told _you_ , you haven't," Kronos' voice dropped lower as he leaned closer, until his breath feathered across Methos' skin, "And I can prove it to you."

Kronos' mouth was hot and demanding as it claimed Methos', Methos' gasp of shock parting his lips enough to allow Kronos' tongue entrance. His brother's actions should never have surprised him, _didn't_ , and Methos could only reflect on the treachery of his subconscious as his mouth was expertly plundered. For a warrior and such a violent one at that, Kronos was far too good at this, but then he supposed it was another form of weapon and certainly one he himself had used in the past. Methos tried not to respond, tried to pull back, create a little distance between them, but Kronos simply followed. And when breath became a necessity Kronos simply began to work his way along Methos' jaw until he reached a spot just below his ear where he worked to make his mark.

Methos shivered beneath his brother's attentions, breathless despite himself. He tried not to co-operate, but the commands got lost somewhere along the way, dispersed by the heat of Kronos' body where it pressed so familiarly against him. His cock was growing harder by the moment and he could feel Kronos' erection through the clothes they still wore. He tried to wriggle free, at least that was what he told himself, but he was still effectively pinned.

Suddenly his arms were released, Kronos shifting his grip so that one hand could begin to work its way beneath Methos' t-shirt. Methos tried to extricate his arms, succeeding when Kronos suddenly pulled back, meeting Methos' eyes from bare inches away. Methos reached for Kronos' shoulders intending to push the man off, but as Kronos abruptly claimed his mouth again, their grip changed, slipping around the Horseman's neck, long fingers holding him close. Methos closed his eyes as he helplessly deepened the kiss, sucking hungrily on his brother's tongue. This was impossible; he'd lost it completely, it was the only explanation. Kronos shouldn't still be able to do this to him so easily... but it felt so damn _good_.

A groan escaped Methos' throat as Kronos insinuated a thigh between his brother's legs, nudging Methos' cock suggestively. Methos arched beneath his lover's body, pressing up then down, spreading his legs in invitation. Kronos gave Methos' lower lip a lingering suck and then pulled away, his mouth curving into a pleased grin. "Told you so," Kronos said, his smug tone so like the one Methos used himself that he wanted to hit him.

"Fuck you," Methos snapped back, but he knew as well as Kronos did, that there was no real anger behind it, not any more, if indeed there ever had been.

Kronos' grin broadened and he shrugged out of the heavy leather jacket he wore, letting it fall to the floor by the bed. "Maybe later," Kronos replied easily as his hand found its way beneath Methos' shirt and began stroking lightly up his side, before dragging back down, nails scraping. Methos arched again at the slow burn, his words evaporating as his treacherous desire soared. He couldn't fight Kronos _and_ himself and with a broken whimper he exposed his throat to his lover's teeth, choosing his battle and offering himself up - a sacrifice to the distant past and appeasement for the betrayal he knew must come.

It was shockingly easy to fall back into ancient ways and yet strangely reassuring at the same time. As he tasted the blood from his brother's bitten lip, Methos felt a smile curve his lips, what was that phrase... as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. He'd already ruined the closest friendship he'd had in millennia and he was about to burn his bridges with its predecessor as well. In all likelihood he was going to be alone for a very long time after this, he would enjoy what he could for as long as he could and then... So long as he didn't lose himself, he could survive this.

The hand that had insinuated itself beneath his shirt found a tight nipple and Methos gasped at the sensation, his response disproportionately strong for the action. God knew he was tense enough, it would take pitifully little to set him off. In an effort to regain some semblance of control he slipped his own hand between their bodies and squeezed the denim-clad erection nudging his hip.

"Methos," Kronos hissing his name in pleasure was surprisingly gratifying. Methos grinned and arched up, latching onto his brother's vulnerable throat with his teeth. He wasn't sure whether he was surprised or not when Kronos instinctively tilted his head to allow his brother better access - perhaps he wasn't the only one so affected by their impromptu reunion. Kronos' mistrust was as much a show as Methos' reluctance, neither of them able to truly feel what logic dictated they should. If Kronos had ever truly doubted Methos' loyalties...

Both Kronos' hands were beneath his clothes now, stroking possessively; Methos returned the caresses, letting his hands roam at will over his brother's body. He caught the edge of Kronos' sweater and it took only the barest hint for Kronos to sit up slightly so Methos could pull it off over his head, baring his brother's chest. Long fingers explored the familiar territory with enthusiasm and Methos heard Kronos' breathless chuckle in the moment before his brother reached behind his back. His hand reappeared a moment later holding a small knife, but Methos felt no fear as the blade came forward, slicing through the thin fabric of his t-shirt with ease.

The knife was discarded with Kronos' sweater over the side of the bed and Methos reached up without hesitation to pull his brother back down to him. Bare skin slid against bare skin yet the temperature seemed only to increase as hands and mouths renewed ancient bonds, mapping out paths of pleasure across familiar flesh.

God, he was hungry, so hungry for this, another's knowing touch, knowing there would be no regrets come morning. It was one thing he could be sure of with Kronos; he didn't judge, didn't regret, didn't do things because he felt obliged to. Kronos did what he did because he wanted to, regardless of any laws or moralities - he always had. It was a peculiar honesty that Methos had missed without quite realising it; to live as long as they had there was simply no other way to operate without going mad. No, there would be no regrets, not for this; for betrayal on both sides, for Death and his brothers, for the loss of the only real family he could remember. But not for this, not ever for this, only sadness that it could never be again.

His hands made short work of Kronos' belt and fly, unsurprised when his fingers discovered bare flesh beneath. Kronos had only ever maintained the surface trappings of civilisation, beneath he was as wild as the Steppes that had borne him. Methos wrapped his hand around the thick cock, enjoying the weight and the heat of it. His eyes flickered up to meet his brother's and the intensity of that pale gaze hit him low in the gut. And then they were kissing again, devouring each other as if they had starved all the millennia they had been apart. Methos needed to be wanted, wanted to be needed, and without a doubt his brother wanted him, needed him.

Kronos thrust into his grip a few times and then drew back, surprising Methos for a moment. Then the large, capable hands were at his waist, stripping jeans and underwear away with little regard for the integrity of the fabric. Methos groaned and pushed up as a warm hand covered him, his fingers reaching for his brother, needing more of him than this. Kronos grinned and leaned forward, freeing Methos' legs and he impatiently kicked the restrictive clothing the rest of the way off.

The rough blankets were harsh on his bare skin, but he couldn't have cared less because Kronos was ridding himself of his own jeans and then his full weight was pressing Methos down onto the thin mattress.

Methos wrapped long arms around his brother's body, pulling him in tighter still as he began to move purposefully beneath him, their erect cocks rubbing together in an increasingly pleasurable manner. As he had expected it took only a moment before Kronos lowered his mouth to Methos' throat again, nipping and sucking at the pale column, sending tiny jolts of pleasure/pain straight to Methos' cock. His fingers tightened hard on his brother's back, bruising the fair skin, but Kronos made no complaint, focused solely on marking his brother's most vulnerable flesh.

Methos groaned, arching up, he wanted more, _needed_ more and his hands slid down to his lover's ass, pressing their groins together hard. Kronos looked up from his predations with a bright grin, but Methos didn't want to hear the triumph in whatever words his brother had planned, so he stole Kronos' breath instead, eating his way inside. He captured his brother's wicked tongue and sucked on it hungrily as he shifted to spread his legs in unmistakable invitation. Then Kronos was breaking away, breathless, moving up the bed as Methos slid down. Their movements perfectly choreographed after centuries of practice.

"Make it wet enough," Kronos' voice was a rough growl, but Methos didn't bother to reply, he simply took the full cock into his mouth in one easy glide. It was Kronos' turn to groan now as Methos began to exercise his skill, remembering too easily what his brother liked as he scraped his teeth lightly over the length. It didn't take long before Kronos was thrusting into the warm, wet suction of Methos' mouth and Methos wrapped his hands around his lover's hips, slowing the movement, guiding it, enjoying his own willing plunder. He wanted that thick length inside him; he wouldn't have his brother's Quickening, but he would have this.

With some reluctance he let Kronos' cock slip from his lips, dripping with spit and pre-come. The niceties were all well and good, but this was hardly the time or the place, it was what he needed and he needed it now. Then they were moving apart again, Kronos slinking down the bed to settle himself between Methos' thighs. One of his hands wrapped around Methos' cock, stroking easily, as Methos canted his hips, willing himself to relax. His hands sought Kronos' shoulders, stroking the warm skin mindlessly, he _had_ changed - so how could he still want this so much?

"Is this a private party or can anyone join in?" the thickly accented voice with its permanently mocking lilt jerked Methos back to himself with a shock.

"Caspian!" Methos hissed. Losing track of his surroundings was the quickest way to lose his head, but that wasn't the only source of his anger. One long arm dropped down over the edge of the bed and came up at speed, a steel blur travelling the distance to his least-favourite brother as he stood in the doorway.

Caspian's breath left him in a hissed curse, but the blade had been deadly accurate. Kronos' chuckle echoed off the dank walls as Caspian toppled to the floor dead, Kronos' knife buried to the hilt in his heart. "Really, Methos, such a temper."

Methos' hand came up viper-quick, hooking behind his brother's neck and dragging him close, "Shut up and fuck me," he snarled. His grip tightened at Kronos' smug grin and he yanked hard. The kiss was hard and fast, bruising and bloody on both sides and Methos loved it.

Kronos had reached his bloody hand inside Methos' stained soul and dragged Death back into the land of the living where he had no place being. If he was going to be tempted then he was damned well going to make the most of it. In this time, in this place, with these men, he truly was free, Death could have full rein and have no fear of the consequences.

Kronos was still chuckling at Methos' temper and Caspian's mishap when Methos shifted his grip on his lover and flipped them both so that he was on top, no small accomplishment on a bed that narrow. Kronos' eyes were unsurprised and unconcerned at the change in positions and Methos felt murder swell in his dark soul. He leaned down, "I could fuck you bloody right now - did you tell him I was in here?" he hissed.

Kronos' lips twitched as he fought a grin, "No, I didn't and you won't - it's not what you want."

Death snarled wordlessly as his fingers curled around his brother's throat - not threatening yet, but there. "What do I want then, _brother?_ "

Kronos smiled and Methos felt the broad hands stroke up his thighs to his hips before sliding around and down, fingers seeking. As suddenly as that, the rage was gone and Methos grinned brightly, though inside his stomach churned with the thought that his brother still knew him so well. But it was amusing to see that _now_ the blue eyes had turned wary and he moved his hand on Kronos' throat, not removing it, but changing the grip. Methos lightly brushed his thumb over his brother's lower lip, smiling when Kronos opened his mouth slightly, tongue tip just barely sneaking a taste of the salt of Methos' skin. He felt a groan build deep in his chest and without preamble he thrust his fingers deep into his brother's mouth, feeling a wicked tongue curl around them hungrily, giving them the same treatment he had so recently given his brother's cock.

Methos might be defenceless against Kronos' power and violent seduction, but his brother was equally defenceless against him. Together they were invulnerable to all the world, but against each other they were helpless, somehow, some way that made it right.

There would be no regrets. The consequences of his actions had already been weighed; succeed or fail Methos had already made his sacrifices. For now he would have this for himself, it might hurt more in the end, but he doubted it, how could it?

Holding his brother's somewhat wary gaze, Methos freed his dripping fingers and, reaching around, began to prepare himself. He closed his eyes, unconsciously rocking into the penetration, and then he became aware of Kronos' broad hands on his thighs, stroking easily. It was a peculiar effort to open his eyes, but it was worth it, if only for the fact that his brother hadn't expected it. The pale blue eyes that met his were almost feverish in their intensity as they avidly devoured every nuance of expression on Methos' face. For the second time that evening Methos felt the impact of that gaze in his gut, a heavy weight that fired his blood and stole his breath. He stole it back; stretching forward to capture his lover's mouth, drinking in the taste of his brother, so familiar and so _necessary_. How could he go through with this - but then how could he not?

Then Methos unerringly curled his hand around his brother's cock, still slightly slick in the damp air, guiding it to his entrance as he shifted back. It had been a long time since he had done this, longer still without proper lubricant. Methos' descent was painstakingly slow, each tiny shift of the cock within him an aching burn. But he didn't really mind, he savoured it in fact, proof of reality, and he _wanted_ it to hurt, a down-payment for his betrayal. Physical pain was infinitely easier to bear than what he knew he would do to himself afterwards.

Kronos' cock glanced across Methos' prostate and he groaned, tipping his head back as sensation raced up his spine, forcing out all thoughts of the future as they were finally consumed by the now. Methos pressed down, taking in more of the hard shaft with a kind of breathless need and it was Kronos' turn to groan at the determined pleasure of his brother's actions.

And then there was no more to take and Methos sat flush against his brother's hips, breathing hard as he grew accustomed to the sense of fullness. Surprisingly gentle fingertips brushed his lips and he quickly ducked his head, capturing the wandering digits and sucking. He let his tongue caress the sensitive pads, tasting the calluses of millennia of swordwork. Hands that could hurt so good, that loved honestly but not well. They were capable of so much more than the use to which his brother usually put them - like so many things.

Methos clamped down hard on the pang that went through him - he would not regret this before it happened, he would have more than enough time for that afterwards. Finally, firmly shutting the door on his thoughts Methos began to move, to drive out the unwanted thoughts one thrust at a time.

It was slow at first, not an easy glide with so little to smooth the way, but getting easier as his body remembered the rhythms of this ages old dance. Gradually the pace began to quicken and the silence that had descended on the room was broken only by their harsh breaths and the wet sounds of flesh on flesh.

A hand cupping his face broke Methos from the odd blankness that had replaced regret and he allowed himself to be guided down. Kronos tasted of heat, of passion and hunger that had survived beyond any sane limits. Part of Methos revelled in it - after all, how could sanity be measured except by its counterpoint. His lips were bruising with the force of the kiss, but he didn't care. Their movement had changed the angle of penetration and Methos could feel the sweet fire building within him with every stroke. He began to clench his internal muscles rhythmically with the movement, bound and determined to make it good for both of them.

Methos rocked further forward, shifting Kronos' cock within him and it felt so good... The movement he had begun continued on without conscious thought, forward and back, the easiest thing in the world. Each movement slid across Methos' prostate sparking shivers throughout his body and it had been so long since he had felt like this; hot and cold and tight and good... so damn good.

Methos gasped out loud as Kronos' hands wrapped around his hips, pulling him down with a force that verged on violence. The pleasure that shocked through him set off a chain reaction - for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, Methos thought briefly as his brain disconnected from reality. He drove down hard, clenching the muscles in his ass, ripping a cry from Kronos' lips. Gratified, he didn't object when his lover dragged him down for a hungry kiss, their bodies falling easily into the new, harsher rhythm.

Methos' hands fisted in Kronos' hair as he ate at his brother's mouth with a determination that teetered on the brink of desperate. Kronos' hands gripped hard enough to bruise as he guided their rough, frenzied coupling. It was so good it couldn't last much longer - just the rest of forever. All good things must come to an end, all bad things too - the trick lay in distinguishing between the two.

"Methos," husky, needy and so full of that familiar possessive satisfaction. Kronos was a strong man, one of the strongest Methos had ever known. The word tore a half-sob from his throat, the purest vocalisation of their relationship; pain and pleasure, inextricably bound, indefinable yet so necessary and vital.

He was gone, he knew it, as he screwed himself down onto his brother's cock, grinding it into his prostate as he closed his eyes and saw stars, his whole body convulsing with the force of his release. Dimly hearing the familiar fierce hiss of his brother's climax as the body he rode bucked into him hard enough to make him cry out again as he passed the point where pleasure and pain became one and only darkness remained.

*****

Slick warmth and darkness slowly yielded to the encroaching chill and the harsh, but still inadequate, light of the single, bare bulb. Methos kept his eyes closed, Kronos knew he was awake regardless, just as Methos knew that Kronos had not slept at all. The callused hand that trailed a peculiarly comforting warmth from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine did not hesitate in its movements. Helplessly, Methos nuzzled into the sweat-soaked skin beneath him, licking a lazy path along the ridge of a collarbone, savouring the familiar and long-missed taste.

"You should never have left, Methos," Kronos' voice was as soft as the touch on his spine. Tender from a man most would not believe could even spell it.

Methos sighed softly, "I had to." It was an old, old argument.

"This time you will stay." Something inside Methos curled up in pain at the faint whisper of uncertainty in the otherwise supremely confident tone and he cursed the fact that just as he was the only one who inspired such subtleties in his brother, he was the only one truly able to read them.

"To the very end, brother," he vowed and Methos cursed the universe that could make such absolute lies of the truth. He placed the softest of kisses to his brother's throat, closing his eyes once more. "I'll make sure of that," he promised and felt Kronos relax beneath him as the Horseman finally allowed himself to sleep, serene in the faith in which he held his most undeserving brother.

"To the very end," Methos whispered again into the desolate silence that wrapped around him, welcoming him to the future it ruled. There would be no sleep for him tonight.

 

FIN


End file.
